


Mad Mass Murderer: Dead!

by Zugzwang (thunderdone)



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Fake AH Crew, Gen, Grand Theft Auto Alternate Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-24
Updated: 2015-03-24
Packaged: 2018-03-19 08:53:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3604038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thunderdone/pseuds/Zugzwang
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael knows he's about to die, no doubt given to him from the bullet wound sunk into his chest. He makes a final call to the rest of the Crew to say his final farewell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mad Mass Murderer: Dead!

**Author's Note:**

> I finally finished this. Yay. New prompt wanted, will be paid in chocolate for each day worked on.

It had all gone wrong, so horribly wrong, and within so few seconds. It wasn't his fault that there was a new warden in town, and he had beefed up security all across Los Santos, and it wasn't his fault that this was their most luck-based one yet. Luck had woken up on the wrong side of the bed that day, and decided to fuck everything up, and turn the tables in favor of the police, for the first time in an eternity. Just get to an out of the way area. 

Speeding down a desolate, country road away from the city, he clamped a hand to the bullet wound just below the final ribs before his chest gave way to stomach. As the road began to swim in front of him, the car was slowed and pulled to the side, turning it off. Michael fumbled for the seat adjuster, leaning all the way back and closing his eyes with a sigh. So this would be how he died, not in a blaze of glory and in the language of bullets, but no, he would bleed out in the front seat of a fucking Honda with the tank nearly empty. No chase, no rush, just a slow throb. 

A small thought struck him, a weak grin forming to his face for a final time as he fumbled in his pocket for his phone, dialing Geoff. Just make him think your distraction went perfectly fine. He waited as the phone hummed lowly, he closed his eyes, the dim light not making much of an impact on the way the outside world saw him. Finally, there was gleeful noise on the other end of the line. "Michael!" Geoff's voice, on the way to being the gleeful drunk he was always after a successful heist, the type that somehow carried over to the hangover the next day. "Where are you! We already split the money and shit, you gotta come down here!"

Laughter bubbles to his mouth as he rolls his eyes. Geoff's glee was always a great thing to hear, especially at such a dire time. "I'll be home soon. How are the guys?" He kept his sentences short, to the point as to not waist any time. Just seem fine, you're fine. The blood had partially crusted over his hand already as he readjusted the grip he had on his rib as the cool metal inside him seemed to settle. 

"Ah, none of us are banged up too badly. Ray's shoulder's fucked from kickback from his sniper, but that always happens. Jack got a hell of a hit to the head from some cop but he's fine, took medicine and put an ice pack on and all that. Ryan's hand got crushed by something or other, three fingers broken, but he's fine. What about you?" Behind his voice was laughter and the rumbling alluding to Ryan or Jack's words, most likely Ryan's considering the clarity of if over the rest.

Michael took a deep breath, looking down at the wound gravely, shrugging. "I'll be fine, no worries. So, how much did we get from the heist, enough to buy a spaceship yet or some shit?" He glanced out at the dark blue blanket thrown over the stars, washed with some splashes of a misty yellow and orange. The window was rolled down, and the cool night air washed over him, soothing the pain in his torso slightly as he relaxed into his final resting spot. 

A burst of laughter comes from the phone pressed to his ear, the smile almost dancing before his eyes. "Not that much, asshole. How rich do you think those fuckers were? Septillion-aires? I think we brought in around twenty four thousand or so, about four thousand for each of us. Got any plans for your side of the deal?" Behind him, Gavin shouted something, mostly incoherent to Michael, getting a sigh from Geoff. "Hold on, I'm putting you on speaker, so don't talk shit, okay?"

"Yeah, I so have people I have to talk shit about Geoff. You really have to worry about me letting someone slip about how much Ray smokes and how stupid Gavin is." An indignant squawk came from the other end, as Michael's vision blurred a little. "Hey, assholes, remember, whatever happens, I love you guys. Okay?" On the other end of the line, there was an elongated pause in the conversation, where Michael could almost see the looks being exchanged. 

Jack was the one who spoke for the rest of them, words chosen carefully as he did so to the object. "Michael, we know. Don't worry. We love you too. Remember that." Michael smiles softly as he let a cough escape, eyes finally shut tight, hand slumping to his side as he utters his last words. 

"Yeah... Thanks... I should get going. See you, yeah?" Goodbyes were spoken from the other end, the fact that it was their last weighing on them for years to come, when the news of "Mad Mass Murderer: Dead" was featured ad the headlines for newspapers across Los Santos came the next day.


End file.
